Wonderful
full lost wonder
of what we use to be
before the cotton mended
into New York Madison sin
of what we really shoud be
before the peace arrives
with open windows
waving crooked smiles
home from pacing miles
stopping for the rest to
catch up to sounds of broadway
with magic glee
and COLORED glory
we record the fleeting second
of creativity at it’s freeest point
of no turn backs
like dirty underwear after death
fade away a thought
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem